


The Only Truth (Everything Comes Back to You)

by Little_miss_laughs_alot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Coming Out, Focuses mainly on Steve and Bucky, It depends on if you're reading this as a sequel to Dog Tags or not, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, So the other characters are mainly background, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9391226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_miss_laughs_alot/pseuds/Little_miss_laughs_alot
Summary: “I’m sorry for interrupting, but there is a man asking to come up and speak to Captain Rogers. He has no appointment, but insists that the Captain be notified. ““Did he give a name?”“James Barnes”For a moment, Steve thought that the serum had suddenly failed, because his heart was beating erratically in a way it hadn’t since 1943.----Could be seen as a sequel to "Dog Tags", but was written as a standalone





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started a while ago and promptly forgot about that takes place in a somewhat happier/simpler Post-CAWS AU where Ultron and Civil War never occurred. 
> 
> Yes, the title is from "This Town" by Niall Horan
> 
> There's a lot of my headcanons in this story, just an FYI. I was writing this as an exercise to flesh Steve's character out, as I have so many conflicting headcanons for him and Bucky, and it just kind of morphed into an actual story.

_ Sirs and ma’am,  _ JARVIS interrupted, pausing the movie.  _ I’m sorry for interrupting. _

 

“What’s up, J?” Tony asked.

 

_ There is a man asking to come up and speak to Captain Rogers. He has no appointment, but insists that the Captain be notified.  _

 

Steve blinked. “Did he give a name?” 

 

_ He seemed rather unsure, but the name that he gave was James Barnes. _

 

At that, everything happened simultaneously. All eyes turned to Steve, who for a moment, thought that the serum had suddenly failed, because his heart was beating erratically in a way it hadn’t since 1943, and his lungs couldn’t seem to draw in enough oxygen.

 

“Steve…” Natasha said quietly, with a warning in her voice.

 

“Send him up,” Steve rasped, stumbling to his feet and crossing the room toward the elevator. Clint’s hand on his arm stopped him. Steve met Clint’s eyes, and didn’t see disapproval, just caution. He understood.

 

“Be careful. Keep your head. Remember what we talked about.” Steve nodded at Sam. Sam who had followed him on months of a wild goose chase into the far corners of the world for a man who was, absurdly, now in the elevator on his way to Steve. 

 

As though the thought summoned him, the elevator dinged softly and slid open to reveal…

 

He was thin, and his hair was still long, but he looked relatively clean and had a soft-looking, if rather threadbare sweater on which, paired with the gloves he wore, helped to disguise his metal arm. To Steve, he looked as out of place in the modern fluorescent lights of the elevator as Steve had felt (still felt sometimes). However, there was just something incredibly  _ right _ about seeing him in what Steve had made his home, as he slowly left the elevator and entered the room proper. 

 

“Cap.” Sam’s voice cut sharply through his thoughts. Steve became aware that he had been moving closer unconsciously, drawn to Bucky as though her were a magnet. And wasn’t he? Hadn’t Steve felt that pull as long as he could remember? Hadn’t he felt so wrong without it? But, remembering himself, he stopped a few feet from Bucky. Still too far away, in his opinion. 

 

“Hey Bucky.” Steve’s voice faltered ever so slightly on his name, but he pressed on regardless. “We’re gonna have to have you answer some questions, alright? We gotta…” he trailed off.   
  
“Make sure I’m me. I get it.” Bucky’s voice was rough with disuse, and it lacked the tones of Brooklyn that Steve knew, but God, it was his. Waves of nostalgia crashed through Steve, and he wasn’t in the top of a skyscraper, expensively furnished. He was nineteen in a fifth floor walkup with peeling wallpaper and cracks in the ceiling, laughing or sleeping or counting money anxiously for rent. He was six years old with a bloody nose and a loose tooth, grinning because he had just found his first friend. He was thirteen with a bottle in his hand, pleasant warmth in his chest, buzzing in his mind, and an unfamiliar but  _ right _ pressure on his lips. He was twenty three and twice the size he used to be, and Bucky was on the other side of a flaming chasm,  _ alive _ , refusing to leave. He was hanging off the side of a train, reaching out  _ just a little further, come on _ ,  _ it couldn’t end like this,  _ he was alone, so goddamned alone… 

 

Steve came back to himself, aware that his eyes were hot and stinging. Barely a second had passed, yet he felt as if he had re-lived his entire existence. He always thought his life had begun the moment he met Bucky, and he thought it would have ended the second he fell out of sight into the mountains. He blinked rapidly to rid himself of the blurry vision, unwilling to lose sight of Bucky, gaunt and disheveled, but  _ alive _ , for even a second. That’s how long it took for him to be taken away the first time, and Steve  _ would not _ let it happen again. 

 

He looked to Sam briefly, who nodded slightly, a serious face, but gentle eyes. Steve took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Bucky. 

 

“Do you remember your name?” He started, softly.

 

Bucky paused, then nodded slowly. “James Buchanan Barnes.” It sounded awkward on his tongue, as though he was reciting it from something he had read. A slight grimace crossed his face. “I didn’t...like it, did I?” he asked tentatively, hesitating. Steve’s heart swelled and broke a bit simultaneously.

 

“Only your ma and the nuns called you James, you’re right. You always thought it sounded stuffy,” Steve answered, expanding. “My ma called you Jamie, but you were always Bucky to me.”

 

“Bucky.” It sounded like he was testing the word out. Steve couldn’t tell the conclusion he reached from his facial expression, which was almost stranger than the circumstance. Bucky’s face had always been an open book to him, just as Bucky always seemed to know what Steve was thinking before he himself did.

 

After a moment of silence, as Bucky considered him with blue eyes, more familiar to Steve than his own reflection, piercing him as though they could see straight through him to his very core, Bucky spoke carefully. “Your ma’s name was Sarah. You… used to wear newspaper in your shoes.” Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat.

 

“We both did, Buck.” Bucky thought on that, nodding slightly before tilting his head to the side, waiting for the next question. Steve couldn’t remember the question, not with those eyes on him, flooding his consciousness. There was a few long moments of silence before Sam came to the rescue.

 

“What do you remember about yourself?” Sam asked softly. The others still watched, on edge, but Sam seemed relaxed. This was about figuring out if Bucky was in control of himself and his memories-- questions about HYDRA and the Winter Soldier could wait until after.

 

Bucky stood in silence, eyes flickering nervously between Steve, Sam, the others’ not-so-concealed weapons, the exits, and back to Steve. He frowned, his familiar forehead worry lines making an appearance, so much deeper than Steve remembered. 

 

“I-I don’t know.” 

 

Sam nodded, unfazed. “That’s alright. What  _ do _ you remember? It can be anything, it doesn’t have to be about you.”

 

“Steve.” Bucky looked startled at his quick response, but carried on, somehow more sure of himself. “I remember Steve.” Steve’s heart thudded a beat that most drummers would be envious of.

 

“What do you remember about Steve?”

 

Bucky took a deep breath, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Steve’s breath hitched as his eyes settled on a point somewhere around Steve’s right shoulder, and he opened his mouth, letting words flow out. There was no cohesive arc to his speech, each sentence ending the topic, and the next sentence beginning a new one. It was as though he had been keeping the words, the truths, trapped in for so long that he couldn’t control how they came out beyond knowing that  _ they had to _ .

 

“His favorite color was always blue, even if he didn’t know what it looked like. He used to go to the park on Sundays to draw the people as long as he was feeling well, and sometimes when he wasn’t. He went to the theater half a dozen times to see Snow White when it came out, because he loved the animation. He always wanted to be an artist, so whenever there was enough money, he’d take classes, and you were pretty incredible, I always thought. Winter always made your lungs worse, and I used to lay awake on bad nights, just listening to you breathe, terrified that if I went to sleep, you wouldn’t wake up.” 

 

At some point, Steve didn’t know when, Bucky had slipped into addressing Steve directly rather than in third person. Blue met blue, and Bucky kept speaking desperately, as though if he stopped, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to say it all.

 

“We had a couch that you were convinced someone died on, on account of how cheap we got it. You couldn’t stay out of fights to save your life, but you were always defending someone else, never yourself. You never fought fights for your own sake. That was my job. You never really got used to being able to hear out of your right ear after the serum, so you still turn your head to listen with your left when you’re trying to hear something better. You hate mornings, but can’t sleep in unless you’re sick. You can’t dance worth a damn, but I still taught you how to Lindy when we were teenagers. You, we-” he stopped, eyes wide, meeting Steve’s eyes. Steve knew what Bucky was about to say, somehow.

 

“It’s fine Bucky. Go ahead,” Steve said softly, aware but not caring that his teammates were just feet away, watching. He had no clue what was going through their heads, and couldn’t give a damn. The only thing that mattered was that Bucky was in front of him,  _ alive _ , and remembering. He stepped slightly closer, and Bucky nodded.

 

“When you turned thirteen, you kissed me for the first time on the roof, after I got hold of some whiskey.” He smiled. A small smile, but a real one. Steve felt the tears that had been blurring his vision spill over onto his cheeks as Bucky continued. “That I do remember.”

 

“Damnit Buck,” Steve choked out what felt like his first genuine laugh in a century, cheeks wet and breath shuddering. Bucky broke eye contact for the briefest of moments to look to Sam, who nodded with a smile, looking rather teary himself. 

 

Bucky took a step forward, towards Steve, arms slightly raised. “Come here, punk,” he said, eyes shiny. Without thinking, without hesitation, within a blink of an eye Steve had stepped forward into Bucky’s arms. Though it wasn’t quite what he remembered-- the metal arm, the long hair, the lack of cheap soap and hair oil scent that had always permeated Steve’s consciousness and lingered on flat mildewy pillows and in Steve’s dreams-- it was still undoubtedly Bucky, and with Bucky was undoubtedly where he had, and always would belong. 

  
They weren’t perfect, neither of them was whole, but together, with time, perhaps, healing would come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
